


This is For the Ones Who Stand (for the ones who try again)

by anythingcanhappenchild



Series: Comes and Goes [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (all the abuse is non-explicit/only referenced or implied), (for one particular part of the character), (period is now), Abuse, Angst, Broken Foster Care System, Character Study, Child Abuse, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Female Homosexuality, Foster Care, Found Families, From Daisy's Perspective, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Second Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Social Justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingcanhappenchild/pseuds/anythingcanhappenchild
Summary: One day, you’ll smile at Mack as he asks you about your favorite home, you’ll smile and say the Parkersons.-You tell him it felt like a dream.(You don’t tell him how it ends.)OR Daisy (back when she’s Mary) uncovers a new reason to hate The System.OR Daisy’s social justice origin story.





	This is For the Ones Who Stand (for the ones who try again)

**Author's Note:**

> Look I finally posted a follow-up! There's more to come (probably)!
> 
> Quick note: There's a lot of references to "This One’s for The Torn Down" (the first work in this series), particularly the first bit of it. So you may want to read that first to understand all the details in this work.
> 
> See end notes for possible content/trigger warnings.

You’re going to another summer home. You’re nine (ten) and you begged the nuns not to send you, to keep you at St. Agnes, and you thought Sister McKenna might even agree, but Sister Brown wouldn’t let you. 

They said you should be grateful, but you spent the past three weeks crying into your pillow and getting sick every morning and putting up as much trouble as you can, hoping they’ll punish you like they used to, keep you through the summer.

It’s not until later that you wonder if the opposite would have worked. If you’d been a perfect angel and behaved like you’re supposed to, and maybe they would have kept you there if you had. But you hate mind games, especially the ones you play with yourself, so you stop thinking even as you’re driving away, too far to walk back.

(You wonder if that’s on purpose.)

By the time you get to the new home, with the roommates, you’ve been told, Maria and Lillian, you’re shaking and sick and convinced you should have run long before.

(It’s not that long before you realize it was the best decision you’ve made, not running.)

(It’s much longer until you wonder if it was really the worst.)

*

They look at each other a lot, quick glances you thought were regrets and irritation with the broken little girl left at their door, but the looks don’t really match those thoughts, which means those aren’t the thoughts but you can’t decide what they’re really thinking, and you’re still sick most mornings and nights with worry.

(You figured they should feel safer, both being women, and not really intimidating women either, but if you know anything it’s that women can hurt as much as men. Especially according to Sadie, but she cried when she told you, and she wasn’t faking, and that probably means it’s true.)

*

Things are getting stranger.

You’ve been with them for a while now, and you know they aren’t really roommates, but they weren’t angry when you asked why they lied, even when you told them lying is wrong – grown-ups don’t like it when you tell them they did something wrong.

But they weren’t. They told you about being girlfriends, and how not everyone thinks it’s okay for them to be girlfriends. And you don’t know what came over you, but they looked so sad you told them how Sister Brown screamed at Marco when he kissed David, even though David was okay with it. It just makes them sadder, but they tuck your hair behind your ear and whisper, so you understand then, why we can’t tell anyone.

They look even sadder when you say keeping secrets for grown-ups doesn’t end up well for you. But they say you won’t get in any trouble, they’ll make sure you won’t, but if you really don’t want to you can tell, just know that the people who don’t think they should be girlfriends also don’t think girlfriends should have children.

Lily got angry with Ria for saying that, said that wasn’t an ultimatum – she forgets to explain what that means – they just want to keep you, but worry they may not get too. And Ria jumps into reassurances, her voice low and comforting like the way she reads to you at night – from across the room, because you cried anytime she came closer, but she just sat in the bean bag chair in the corner and whispered loud enough for you to hear.

But you’re not listening, because you’ve just realized – you want to stay. You _want_ to stay. And you’ve never made such a bad decision, getting attached to a home so quick, to people so nice. But you want to stay, and you have the power to make that happen.

Help make that happen. So, you ignore their gasps of surprise and lunge in for a hug, whispering out – I won’t tell, I won’t tell, secrets aren’t bad unless someone’s hurt and I’m not hurt, do you really want to keep me? 

It takes a second, but then two pairs of arms are wrapped around you, and you’re sitting in their laps, and two people are whispering back – yes, yes we want to keep you, so so much.

So, things are getting stranger. 

But they’re getting better.

*

And suddenly, you’re waking up to pancakes and dressing for swim lessons, and playing on the beach with Lily while Ria laughs and insists, just one more picture, I’m painting these later, we’ll put them up in the hallway, and Lily’s grabbing Ria to spin her in circles and sing to the radio and they’re both sitting just a bit closer to your bed each night.

You think you must have found your own personal Eden, with two angels protecting their garden and all their precious treasure, and you, you’re becoming treasure too.

They say your name all the time like they’ve found something precious, like they want to hold on to you the same way you want to fold up these moments and keep them forever like you fold up forgotten holiday cards and class valentines. 

They say your name like they might love you one day.

(You’ve never loved your name more.)

(You’re worth something now, and you want to keep it that way.)

So, you’re not sure where or when your forbidden fruit may appear, but when the snake bites at your heels whispering – this won’t last, it never lasts, haven’t you learned little girl, might as well find out how it ends, your terms … isn’t that always better – you turn from it and run into Ria’s arms.

*

One day, you’ll smile at Mack as he asks you about your favorite home, you’ll smile and say the Parkersons. You’ll laugh when you tell him they weren’t actually the Parkersons but that Ria was a Parker and Lily was a Peterson, and you were you were a whole nine (ten) years old and thought it was so funny to mash their names together like they were famous. 

You’ll tell him about how cute they thought it was, and you’ll tell him how you used to draw family pictures and write the name across the top like a rainbow, you’ll tell him how you never got the courage to call either of them mom, but that they stuck the pictures to the fridge and smiled at them every morning.

You’ll tell him about their dog named Bastet and their cat named Cerberus, because Maria loved Greek mythology and Lilian loved Egyptian myth, and neither one had a good sense of humor. You’ll tell him about the bedtime stories filled with Icarus and Osiris and how you can still remember Ria giggling – she’ll never get to sleep now.

You’ll tell him how they lived on a beach and they taught you to swim in the ocean, and how for years after that you tried to remember them by swimming, but the public pools never had enough choppy waves, the smell of stinging salt, or sure hands ready to pull you back from the depths. You’ll tell him about running down the beach in white sundresses chasing Bastet and rolling when he turned to catch you, and building sand castles until the sun set, and sitting up drinking hot chocolate and laughing until your sides hurt.

You’ll tell him about barbeques with the neighbors and playing with other children and feeling like you could fly into the sun without falling.

You’ll tell him about Ria’s paintings, her room filled with oils and charcoal and half-finished projects. About Lily, who taught other children how to swim in the summer, since she taught them how to read and do maths the rest of the year. You’ll tell him about memorizing the smell of chlorine and pastels and salt. About the laughter. The singing and dancing and safety. 

You tell him it felt like a dream.

(You don’t tell him how it ends.)

*

One morning you don’t wake up to pancakes. Ria isn’t laughing and Lily isn’t dancing and there’s no radio playing.

You wake up and they’re crying. They look like they’re both ready to crumple to the ground, and only the other is holding them up. 

Your throat closes, and a million horrible thoughts run through your head – someone they loved died, their pets died, one of them is dying, they’ve lost everything and can’t afford to live, they’re both dying.

(You don’t think this is about you. People don’t cry like that for you.)

But as soon as you step away from the doorway, they look up with twin pairs of devastated looks, and try futilely to brush away tears that are still falling. They pull you into a hug, and you’re suddenly sitting on both their laps, them curled around you and holding on to each other.

You’re trying very hard not cry, but you lose the battle as they start to whisper to you – we thought we could trust him, he’s been our friend for years, we don’t know how this happened – and – we can’t believe this, God how did this happen – and it’s not until you squirm slightly, choking out a plea – what’s going on, please, what happened, what’s going on.

And your world falls apart.

(Again.)

Their friend betrayed them. He’s one of those people who think girlfriends – girlfriends like Ria and Lily, who talk about you like you’re treasure and made you love your stupid, stupid name – shouldn’t have children. He called social services, and for the first time in your life it took only one call to have you removed from a home.

(You think about The Andersons and you have to bite back a sob.)

(You think about Tommy and Rebecca and Miley and Sadie and bite back a scream.)

They’re coming in a few hours. They’ll be here soon.

You grab fistfuls of their shirts, and sob.

*

You’re staring at the ceiling, drifting away because you can’t listen to their forced cheer anymore, can’t let yourself break every time Lily hangs up on another friend another office worker another lawyer another anyone-she-can-call because each time she sobs out more desperately to Ria that no, no they couldn’t help, they won’t help, you feel your crumbling hope suffocate you a bit more

You’re not sure when you realize, not sure when you inevitably know, if it’s after Lily’s tenth call or when Ria, for the first time since you’ve known them, slams her hand against a wall or just when you’re trying to make sense of the twisting designs on the ceiling, but at some point, you realize – you’re not going to think about them.

It’s the only way you’ll survive, survive the next months at the orphanage before the next home that will never ever feel like this one before the next months at the orphanage before the next home like The Andersons before –

You’ll break if you think about them, remember them. So, you won’t.

A manic giggle escapes you. It just figures. You finally find a good home and you won’t get to keep it, not even in your memories.

Most kids, they pretend the worst homes they’ve ever been to never existed. They pretend they’ve only ever been in good ones, in ones like this.

You, you’ll be pretending this never happened, because for the first time, the nuns and social workers are finally interested in ‘protecting’ you.

From girlfriends. 

You think about The Andersons.

Your giggles turn to screams.

*

You tell them this is wrong. 

You think they think you want them to fix it, but they’re wrong. You know they can’t fix it, they’re as powerless now as you are, pulling your bag on your shoulder like you can just pack up your life and walk away. Like you can fit everything you’ve found into a backpack and not feel like you’re leaving everything behind.

(It’s the first time you’ve felt this way. You realize that’s because you’ve been empty before. You were empty before and you’re all full now and they want to take you away.)

You tell them it’s wrong.

They aren’t crying, but their eyes are red, and Ria’s lips tremble like she wants to. They’re being strong for you. They’re being strong but they don’t need too. Because your face is hard and your hands are steady.

You know the difference between rage and anger now. Rage is what made you scream into your pillow and what made you slam your hands against the wall like it would fix things. Fix this.

Anger’s what you feel now. It’s the cold assurance in your voice and the glint in your eye as you tell them it’s all wrong. It’s steady words and solid hands. It’s everything you feel when you look at them and say you’ll fix this.

(Many years later, you’ll remember this as a woman you’ve never admired more tells you she knows the difference too. She offers to teach you to turn that rage into anger, without waiting for the heat to flicker out on its own, wait for the cold assurance to take its place, and you’ve never respected anyone more.)

And their hearts are breaking because, little love, no one can fix this, and you tell them, not now, not soon, but you will. You’ll fix this, for them, for everyone you can because you know danger, know how some families hurt, know what it feels like to live in sin, and you’ve never been closer to God’s grace than in this home.

You tell them, for the first time, how you thought this was your Eden, and you were just waiting to see what the apple was, hoping you saw before you took a bite. How, now, you know this really is your Eden, how you’ll never find somewhere that feels as much like a miracle as here, but you never took a bite of the apple.

You tell them this home is Grace, and someone’s trying to force you out when you never gave into temptation, never listened to a snake or bit into an apple, and you tell them that it’s wrong.

You tell them that you aren’t sure how, you aren’t sure when, but you’ll fix this.

They’re crying and you’re still steady. But you’re hugging them as the social worker walks up to you and clicks his tongue – it’s time to go Mary.

(You’ve never hated your name more than in that moment.)

You’re walking out of this home, this dream, this miracle.

You’re walking away from two people who want keep you. 

You’re walking, and you’re thinking of only one thing:

You’ll fix this.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: References to past child abuse (specifically past sexual abuse), the effects of child abuse, feelings of anxiety, homophobia, institutionalized homophobia.
> 
> I hope you liked this! Any and all feedback is highly appreciated!


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